


The Christmas Present

by IbelieveinMarkNutt



Series: BloodGulch Apartments [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Anal Sex, Domestic Abuse mentioned, Happy Christmas, M/M, The Bet universe, a little fluff, how bout that?, late christmas fic, now feat. actual domestic abuse, some plot but mostly porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-09-13 00:25:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9097435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IbelieveinMarkNutt/pseuds/IbelieveinMarkNutt
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and Sarge is all alone, that is, of course, until Donut turns up at his door, drunk.-Set in The Bet universe, but you don't need to read it to enjoy it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For my babe [HayamaRei.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HayamaRei/pseuds/HayamaRei) She's hella great and so's her writing. Love you.
> 
> Merry (belated) Christmas, ya filthy animals.

It was Christmas Eve, snow swirling outside the apartment window for the first time in years. It disguised the peeling paint of the window ledge and stuck to the rusting metal of the fire escape in clumps. The streetlamps across the street glowed dimly through the downpour, the cars parked up down the side of the road soon to be buried in the white mush. A cold wind blew through the darkened night, but the apartment’s occupant didn’t feel it’s sting.

He was stretched out across his couch, a hand in his boxers and a stiff drink in the other, some Christmas movie on his TV, not that he was particularly paying attention.

“ _ That's the one good thing about regret: it's never too late _ .” The woman on the screen said with a resolve, clinging to her lover with a smile,  _ “You can always change tomorrow if you want to.” _

“Yeah, fucking right.” The man on the couch said in return, the ice cubes in his whiskey glass clinking together as he brought it to his lips.

A steady stream of music and laughter came from downstairs where residents were gathered, the kids downstairs having a Christmas party, he assumed. The top floor was unusually quiet, even Grif and Simmons having stopped their arguing, just for the holiday season at least.

This was going to be the second year he was celebrating Christmas without his wife, and at the thought his hand moved instinctively to roll his wedding band around his finger a few times. He really needed to take the damn thing off, she’d moved on pretty much immediately after the divorce, and he had too in a lot of ways, but when you were with someone for so long, it was hard to know what to do when you suddenly found yourself alone. He’d never loved her the way she had loved him, but she’d still been a constant for the majority of his life, and now that was gone.

He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back as he tried to let everything fade to white noise.

A knock at his door startled him, the man sitting up sharpish and grabbing for a gun that wasn’t there, an instinct that still hadn’t left him. Had that been his imagination? Who would be at his door? The knock came again impatiently, and he grumbled, setting down his glass. His aging joints were stiff as he got up and wrestled on a discarded pair of pants.

More knocking when he got to the hall.

“I’m coming.” He barked, muttering afterwards, “Gosh darn, what have you idiot blues done now?”

He unlatched the chain lock, turning the key in place and pulling open the door, deep scowl surrounded by his overgrown facial hair.

And there he was.

“Hey, Sarge!” Donut said, a bright smile lighting up his face, holding out a small, red gift bag, a ribbon tied to its front, “You weren’t responding to my texts so I thought I’d come upstairs to you.”

Sarge blinked in surprise.

Franklin was drunk, he could tell from the way he swayed gently on the spot, the sea of his eyes having to concentrate a little too hard on his face. There was an adorable flush in his cheeks, and he was wearing a pink Christmas sweater to match it, a Santa’s hat pulled over his head.  

There was gold glitter smudged under his eyes, and it was then that Sarge noticed the ugly swell of a bruise. Donut didn’t seem like the type for fighting.

“I’m not sure where my phone is.” Sarge could only think to say.

“Oh, Sarge, no wonder you weren’t at the party!” Donut cooed, stepping closer and gesturing for him to take the bag, “Here’s a little something for you.

Sarge took it. “You didn’t- I don’t have anything for you. What are you doing wasting your money, Donut?”

“Don’t say that, it’s only something small… even if the size doesn’t count.”

Sarge tried to look unimpressed but he couldn’t, amused.

“Go on, open it.” Donut encouraged.

Sarge untied the ribbon, pushing aside the tissue paper and pulling it out from its packaging.

It was a framed photograph, and Sarge recalled it being taken a few months prior. He and Donut had just met, and Donut had insistently requested for him to come with him and his friends for dinner after learning he lived alone. He’d enjoyed himself a lot more than he had expected too, and he remembered them walking on the promenade afterwards, Donut asking one the blues downstairs to take a photo of the two of them.

“Do you like it?” Donut sounded worried, Sarge glancing up.

“No, it’s… I’m liking it a lot. And I mean that, Donut.” Sarge tried to make his words as genuine as he could manage, which was difficult.

“That’s a relief!” Donut looked pleased, Sarge guessing he’d succeeded. 

“I’ll be sure to hang it up somewhere. ...Thank-you.”

“You’re welcome.” Donut smiled, softer this time, arms wrapped up around himself, “Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas.” Sarge returned, giving the younger a withered smile of his own. He wanted to reach out and touch his arm, but he didn’t, burying the feeling down in his gut like he’d been doing for years.

There was a pause, Donut yet to take his leave, shifting from foot to foot discreetly. He took in a deep breath like he was working himself up to say something, and Sarge found it strange he was doing so over a bitter old man. “Can I come in?”

Sarge raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Come in?”

Donut smiled in a clever little way that was both shy and flirtatious, toes pointing as he tapped a foot against the aging carpet. “Yeah. For a drink, or something. If that’s… okay with you?”

Sarge didn’t even know how to respond, stepping aside to let him inside before he was even processing it. “What about your party?”

“I can always go back later.” Donut shrugged and came inside, Sarge shutting the door behind them.

The hall was empty apart from a line of coat hooks on the wall and an aging table, the wallpaper peeling over sadly in places. It was still as cold and unloved as Donut remembered from his last visit, and he walked in the direction of the lounge. “ _ Oh _ , what were you watching?” He asked once he was sat on Sarge’s sofa, smiling happily.

Sarge turned off his TV, making a noise of indifference. “I don’t know, some god awful Christmas flick.”

“You need some festive spirit!” He took off his hat and leaned over to put it on Sarge’s head instead, “There, much better. You look like a scruffier version of Santa Claus!” Donut laughed.

Sarge definitely didn’t blush, Donut so close he could see the golden colour of the sparkles flecked over his cheeks. Donut batted his long lashes, the gloss on his lips pink. Satge went to pull the hat off his head, leaning away.

“No.” Donut whined, “Keep it on.”

Sarge grumbled, but left it in place. 

“You wanna drink?” He asked.

“Sure, I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

Sarge disappeared out the room to find another glass, quickly washing it in the sink to make sure it was clean, bringing it back through for his guest.

“What happened to your face?” Sarge couldn’t keep back the question any longer, unscrewing the top of his whiskey bottle.

Donut pressed a feather touch to his cheek, eyes casting away before they went back to the older’s. The newfound look he held was determined. “My boyfriend punched me in the face.”

A shot of anger chilled Sarge to his core. “Ex-boyfriend, I’m counting on.”

“Is it bad I haven’t decided yet?” Donut smiled sadly, “He’s told me he’s sorry, but it isn’t the first time he’s done this either.”

Sarge frowned, but listened.

“I actually feel a little bad, I left him crying on the kitchen floor to come out here instead. Part of me feels like I should have stayed, he was begging me to, but that means he would have won, you know? It’s Christmas and I wanted to see my friends. The whole reason he was mad in the first was because of Church’s stupid party.” He took a breath, “I know he doesn’t mean it, that doesn’t make it right, but he doesn’t, Sarge, I know it, there’s a sweet guy in there, he’s just stressed is all. You wouldn’t think it, but being a veterinarian is just as hard as being a doctor in some ways.”

Sarge didn’t look very convinced. “I knew there was something I didn’t like about the scumbag, he better be ready for when I turn up at his place and break his knee caps.”

That got a smile out of Donut. “You don’t like  _ anyone. _ ”

Sarge grunted and let him deflect.

Donut held out his glass as Sarge tilted the bottle, watching liquid splash into the bottom. His subconscious was reminded Sarge was wearing his Santa’s hat and he suddenly giggled.

“What’s this laughing about, cupcake?” Sarge demanded.

Donut laughed a little more into his whiskey, taking in a couple of gulps before he set the crystal glass down onto the coffee table beside the other one. “Just looking at you, Santa.”

Sarge didn’t look very impressed.

“Why so glum, Santa? Have I been a bad boy this year?”

Sarge could tell Donut was flirting with him, he did with everyone, especially with alcohol in his system. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little drunk too after drinking alone on his couch since four. “Why don’t you get your butt in Santa’s lap and he’ll tell you?”

The last thing Sarge ever expected was for Donut to  _ crawl _ across the couch cushions and do just that. He settled on Sarge’s lap and rested his elbow on his shoulder, flicking the pompom of his hat playfully. Sarge didn’t know where to put his hands or even where to look, Donut pressed up against his crotch in a way that had to be deliberate.

“Well? Is Santa gonna tell me?” Donut teased when Sarge didn’t say anything.

Sarge found his voice, “A good boy.”

Donut made a noise of delight and clapped his hands together. “That means I get a present, right?”

Sarge nodded, playing along despite the rapid tempo of his heart. “What you want?”

Donut leaned into the older man and set a hand on his chest, Sarge watching the movement speechlessly. Donut licked his lips. “I think you know what I want, Sarge.”

Sarge’s mouth was dry, Franklin was so beautiful and close and he smelled good, really good, blue eyes looking at him, adoring smile directed at  _ him _ , and he was sat on his knee, his nails painted a pretty shade of pink, like the colour of his lips- his lips, God, his lips, pink and parted, breathing soft, closer, closer-

He kissed Donut before he could back out, the noise of surprise he made enough to make Sarge begin to pull away, but he was stopped, Donut’s arms winding around his neck, mouth as hungry for him as he was for Donut.

Trying to recall the last time he had kissed another man, Sarge struggled. It had definitely not been in such an erotic setting as this, at least to Sarge’s remembrance, he’d been young, maybe a little younger than Donut, a  _ Don’t Ask Don’t Tell _ in the back of a military owned hut.

The train of thought broke away as Donut kissed from the corner of Sarge’s mouth to his jaw, following the curve up to his ear where he bit him, moving to straddle him, their crotches pressed together. Sarge grunted and took a handful of Donut’s behind.

“I  _ really _ wanna fuck you, Sarge.” Donut sounded as desperate as Sarge felt, panting by his ear, “I wanna fuck you so fucking bad. Please.”

“What about your boyfriend?” Sarge reminded, gruff, although his hands continued to knead at his ass.

“Fuck. Him.” Donut moved up onto his knees, pulling his sweater off over his head, his eyes shining. His skin was hairless and lean, a belly bar through his navel that Sarge felt like he should have expected.

“Thought you were the one I was fuckin’” If Sarge could have gotten any harder, he would have, scanning the tanned masterpiece of a man who was giving himself to him. How the hell did he score this lucky?

He wanted to kiss up his chest, suck at his hardening nipples, bite at his sides. He was  _ going _ to.

Donut giggled, airy and giddy as he stroked at hand over Sarge’s cheek, rolling a thumb over his bottom lip which Sarge caught between his teeth playfully. Donut seemed even more delighted at this, pushing his crotch forward into Sarge’s hands as the older undid his fly.

“Fucking hell, Donut.” Sarge growled.

Mouthing at Donut’s skin, Sarge hooked his fingers into Donut’s briefs, freeing his cock so that he could wrap a hand around it, pumping the sensitive skin against his palm. Donut closed his eyes at the sensation, tensing up as Sarge swiped his thumb over his head.

“C’mon.” He moved to try and stand up, wrapping his arms around Donut’s waist in an attempt to pick him up and take him through into his bedroom.

“No.” Donut replied, and Sarge’s grip loosened, turning his head to see an excited expression beaming back at him, “I wanna fuck on the floor.”

Sarge laughed and released him, giving in to his demands. “Alright, cupcake, just lemmie go find somethin’”

By the time Sarge returned with the bottle of lubricant, Donut was completely naked, laid out on his living room floor and touching himself. “You still think I’m a good boy, Santa?” He smirked when he noticed Sarge was back, opening up his legs.

Sarge tore off the Santa hat and threw it aside, kicking off his jeans and his boxers, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the way Donut’s eyes widened and his smile grew at the reveal of what was hidden in his boxers. He looked up at Sarge and raised an eyebrow. “All that just for me?”

“Just for you.” Sarge agreed and moved onto his knees, gritting his teeth at the mild discomfort, a bittersweet reminded of his age. His hand reached out to touch Donut’s calf before it was pulled away, Donut closing his legs and sitting up.

“I wanna see all of you.” Donut demanded.

Sarge looked bemused.

Donut laughed. “I mean, take off your shirt.”

Sarge hesitated. “Look, Donut, I don’t think you’re gonna like me shirtless as much as you think you’re gonna-”

“Course I am, come on, Sarge.” Donut leaned back on his arms, “You know me better than that.”

Sarge stared a few moments before he sighed and pulled it off over his head.

Donut whooped with a genuine enthusiasm, a big smile on his face as he threw his hands up in the air, his unrelenting encouragement heart-warming.

“Stop the patronising.” Sarge could feel heat on his cheeks, throwing his shirt at Donut’s face.

He knew he wasn’t in his best shape, nowhere near it, far in the past were the days when he could flex hardened biceps and a built abdomen, army tattoos faded and blurred. Even the hairs on his chest and arms had developed a grey, dull looking colour. He greatly regretted not taking advantage of his sexuality in his prime, who would be interested in him now?

Donut obviously.

The younger fell back against the carpet with a sequence of giggles, pulling Sarge’s shirt from his face. “I am not!” He opened up his legs again for him again, gesturing for with a finger for Sarge to come to him. His expression was teasing.

Sarge shifted forward on his knees a little stiffly, Donut’s gaze shameless, watching the fullness of his cock drop and rise at the movement. It only aroused him further.

“I wanna feel you.” Donut outstretched a hand, Sarge moving closer.

During the prep, Donut was already pretty loose, and Sarge tried to ignore the fact this implied he’d recently fucked somebody else, most definitely Frank DuFresne. It pissed Sarge off a little, but it soon passed when he had the head of his cock rolling up against Donut’s entrance.

Donut made a noise of impatience, chasing after the touch with his body. He tilted his chin as Sarge lavished his throat with his mouth, curling his toes. “ _ Sarge _ .”

Sarge smiled against his Adam’s apple, re-positioning so he could give Donut what he wanted. Franklin was blissfully hot and tight, and Sarge began to rock, creeping further and further inside him with each smooth snap of his hips, inch by inch.

Donut didn’t utter a word as he rolled back against his girth, head back as he muffled moans with each shallow thrust Sarge gave him, lulling him into the stretch of his cock. He gasped at a particularly sharp movement Sarge couldn’t resist, Donut gripping the back of him hair, pulling him closer.

“Sorry.” Sarge grunted, slowing again.

“Don’t stop.” Donut pleaded softly, hand pressing into the small of Sarge’s back, urging him forward.

Sarge complied, the slide of his cock coming easier, mouth latching itself to Donut’s neck again. The younger clenched around him and he shivered, moaning freely without shame. How could he feel shame in front of someone who wanted him like Franklin did?

He had expected Donut to talk more, his forever running mouth shut as he stroked at Sarge’s back, through his hair and at the nape of his neck. The heated fuck they had intended had developed into something that made Sarge’s gut twist in a way he found he was okay with, closer with Donut in that moment then he believed he’d been with anyone.

“Kiss me, please.” Donut whispered to him, and how could Sarge not give him anything he wanted, moving to do just that.

They moved leisurely with one another for a while, Sarge tasting the inside of Donut’s mouth with his tongue, holding himself up over him. Donut cupped his face, panting. He gave a flustered smile, cheeks red and eyes bright, Sarge smiling back so hard his cheeks ached.

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful.” Sarge admitted under his breath, embarrassed.

“I know.” Donut soothed him, “I think you’re beautiful, too.”

Sarge smirked and met their lips again, moving faster, sneaking a hand under Donut to support the small of his back, the angle making Donut moan more freely. His arms started to ache under the pressure of holding both himself up and keeping Donut close, but he persevered despite the tremor in his arms.

Donut seemed to sense he was beginning to struggle, wordlessly pushing Sarge’s chest, the man compliant as Donut moved him onto his back to straddle him. Donut’s cock bobbed at the movement, dribbling a little precome onto Sarge’s torso. Donut moved his hand underneath himself so that he could guide Sarge inside him again, sighing, beginning to bounce steadily.

“Fuck.” Sarge melted, hands sliding up to take a firm hold of his ass. He rested his head back, gaze heated as he watched Donut ride him. He was a lot rougher with himself than Sarge had been, letting Sarge’s girth impale him deeply, rolling his hips. The obscene slap of skin on skin rang in his ears.

Sarge couldn’t keep his hands off him, thumbs rubbing over Donut’s hips, a hand stroking over his stomach, up his damp chest to a nipple, back down his side, coming to rest in between Donut’s legs, wrapping his palm around his cock.

Donut gasped, Sarge’s calloused touch turning him into frenzy, speeding up. “Please, please, please, please…” He whined.

Donut came, crying out in pleasure, hunched over.

Sarge groaned at the sight of Donut, eyes screwed shut and mouth open, fucking himself forward into his hand desperately, whole body clenching up tight. Sarge came too.

The room went silent, Donut collapsing forward on top of him.

Sarge could still feel Donut’s walls twitching around him every so often, the smell of sweat and sex lingering, his nose buried in Donut’s hair.

They panted together for a while.

“That was fun.” Donut grinned, flat against Sarge’s chest hair, cheek against the carpet. He rubbed a hand over Sarge’s bicep, rising and falling with the older as he continued to catch his breath back.

Sarge turned his head so he could meet Donut’s eyes, letting a hand rest on the bare skin of his back, just above the curve of his ass. He made a noise somewhere in between a wheeze and a laugh, but he smiled too, heart still thudding rapidly in his chest.

Donut sat up sharply, buzzing with energy. “Round two?”

Sarge’s froze in disbelief, but before he could put together a reply, the younger had dissolved into laughter at his expression.

“I’m kidding, kidding- don’t look so scared, Sarge!” Donut’s fingers ran through the coarse, grey hairs of his chest with an affection.

Sarge narrowed his eyes, but he was still smirking somewhat. “You making fun of this old man?”

Donut smiled sweetly. “You’re not old, don’t be silly.”

Sarge raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe a little old,” Donut leaned forward to kiss him, Sarge returning the gesture, his hand sliding downwards to the back of his thigh, “but I like that about you.” Donut continued against his lips.

“You like… that I’m old?” Sarge responded in amusement when they broke apart, shaking his head a little, staying laid back on his floor.

“Sure, if that’s what makes you  _ you, _ then I like it.” Donut was sitting up again, “Besides, you gotta help out the elderly this time of year.”

“I’ll shove you off, boy.” Sarge warned.

“Kinky.” Donut shot back, waggling his eyebrows.

-

Sarge felt contented, watching Donut sip from the hot chocolate he’d made him from the opposite end of the sofa. The TV was back on, but Sarge wasn’t watching it. Donut seemed to sense his gaze, peeking over his mug and smiling prettily. He was back in his sweater, blonde hair a mess, matching his smudged make up.

“Sounds like the party’s still goin’ on downstairs.” Sarge gestured to the floor with a nod, the vibration of the music still moving through the building. If Donut hadn’t turned up at his door, he would probably be down there by now telling them to shut up.

“I should probably be getting out of your hair, huh?” Donut recognised he might be outstaying his welcome, curling his fingers around his half empty mug. It had been a couple of hours since they’d finished their impromptu floor fuck. 

“You don’t have to.” Sarge didn’t want him to go, realising what he’d just implied.

Donut rested his head against the couch, the bruised skin under his eye shining dully in the dim light of Sarge’s lamp. “I’m sick of parties.”

They shared a comfortable silence, eyes taking in one other.

“You got any plans for tomorrow? Seeing family or…” Sarge trailed off as the other shook his head, Donut reshifting slightly.

“I was supposed to be spending Christmas at Doc’s parent’s house,” He shared, “but I don’t think I wanna go anymore.”

Sarge rolled his wedding ring. “You know.” He stopped and started again, “You know, you could always stay the night here. I don’t have anything going on tomorrow.”

A smile wormed it’s way back onto Franklin’s soft lips. “Really?” The word was breathy, hopeful.

Sarge nodded, more confident. “Yeah. Quite frankly I don’t want you around that shithead. You can stay as long as you want.”

With each word the ex-sergeant said, Donut’s face shone brighter and brighter, shifting across the small gap between them to throw his arms around his shoulders again. “Oh, Sarge! That makes me so happy, I’m gonna cry! This is gonna be the best Christmas ever! We can make christmas dinner and watch christmas movies and bake gingerbread and go see the christmas lights!”

Sarge pressed his face against the crook of Donut’s neck, smiling as he let his babble wash over him, arms encompassing his waist. His chest warmed, and behind Donut’s back, he slipped off his wedding ring.

_ That's the one good thing about regret: it's never too late _ .

_ You can always change tomorrow if you want [to.](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0096061/quotes?item=qt2304913) _

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donut and Doc part ways. Sarge is there to pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unedited ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“Where have you been?” The accusations started as soon as Donut was in through the door, Doc stood in their hall, poised with anxiety, “Do you know how worried I’ve been? How worried you made my parents? Our family? It was Christmas, Frankie.”

Donut didn’t reply, turning to shut out the cold, unzipping his jacket.

“Whose is that? I don’t recognise it.” Doc looked more upset, gesturing to the foreign article of clothing.

“Sarge’s.” Donut was sharp, pushing past his boyfriend to get to their kitchen. He took the kettle from the hob, carrying it to the sink.

“Sarge’s?” repeated Doc as he followed, borderline spiteful. He pushed his glasses up his nose, crossed his arms. He hovered by the hallway. “Why? What were you doing with him?”

Donut let the silence drag, he took his time as he poured out the old water, rinsing out the lime scale a few times.

Donut shut off the tap once the kettle was filled, clicking shut the lid. He turned, leaning his hands back against the edge of the counter. “I spent Christmas with him.” he finally answered.

“You-” gaped Doc, “How could you do that?”

Donut’s grip increased. “How could I? _How could I?”_ he pushed off the sink, pointing in accusation, “How could _you_ , Frank. I see you’re looking for an apology but where’s mine? Where’s my ‘sorry’?” just like Donut had feared, tears quickly burned behind his retinas like the oversensitive baby he was.

Doc swallowed in guilt, but he stood his ground, crossing his arms tighter. “That wasn’t my fault.”

“Oh, of course,” laughed Donut, “it never is.”

“Stop.”

“It’s not nice when it’s the other way around, is it, Frank?” Donut smiled as tears dripped down his cheeks, “When you’re the one being yelled at; when you’re the one hurting.”

“At least I didn’t leave you alone on Christmas Eve!”

“Excuse me for wanting to get away from the man who punched me across the face!”

“Punched.” scoffed Doc, “I never punched you.”

“Yeah, but it was pretty damn fucking close, wasn’t it?”

They were face-to-face now, Doc still in the kitchen hallway. Franklin was so close he could see how tired Doc was. He had blue under his eyes and his hair was a little greasy, but Donut refused to allow himself to care this time.

“Me and Sarge slept together.” admitted Donut when Doc hadn’t responded.

Doc’s bottom lip wobbled, different emotions flashing behind his glasses before he settled on, “You’re lying.”

Donut shook his head, smiling as more tears trickled their way down. “No, I’m not. I can never lie to you, honey. Believe me, I’d have saved myself a lot of pain if I could.”

Doc’s arms trembled, the anguish on his face showcasing the betrayal he’d just suffered. “Why?” he demanded.

“Because I can’t do this to myself anymore. I started loving you more than I love me, and that ain’t right.”

Doc cried, bringing a hand to his mouth to cover the sobs.

“You don’t make me feel safe,” continued Donut, “I come home and I feel scared. When it’s good, it’s really good. You’re sweet and gentle and you make me feel like I’m your everything, but when it’s bad… you terrify me, Frank. The way you look at me, I feel like you could really hurt me bad, you look at me like you hate me.”

“I’ll change. I can change, Franklin.” Doc blubbered, trying to take Donut’s hands, “It’s just the stress. I love you, I love you so much. I’ll never hurt you ever again.”

Donut shook his head again, pulling out from Doc’s grasp. “I’m leaving you.”

“You can’t.” The waterworks were over, Doc taking a firm hold on Donut’s wrists, “Where will you go?”

Donut felt panic bubble up in his stomach. “Away from you.” he said defiantly.

“You mean, back to him? Back to Sarge?” spat Doc.

“So what if I do?” Donut held his ground, “At least he treats me with- with the respect I deserve.”

Doc’s eyes narrowed, grip tightened. “Let’s be real, this is just you making up for the fact Daddy never loved you. You’re worse than Richard.”

 _“Fuck you.”_ Donut yanked his wrists away from Doc’s grasp. He wasn’t much weaker than Doc, in fact he may have been a little stronger, despite not liking to use it. 

Just like that, Doc lashed out, his fury bubbling over into his fist. Donut let out a cry at the contact, head turned, accompanied by tears that blinded his vision of the herbal garden on their windowsill. Something dribbled down his chin, and a quick swipe of his tongue determined it was blood.

Donut cupped his mouth and forced Doc to look at him with a stare.

Doc, like he always did, looked horrified. He stayed silent; Donut spoke again instead.

“Thanks for proving my point.” he spat, blood pooling onto his open hand. He cradled his split lip, stamping upstairs to pack a bag.

Doc stayed in the kitchen.

-

Donut took in gulps of air as he tried to hold back tears. He was tired, sat in a dirty, rundown clinic waiting for his turn so he could get his lip stitched up. His arms ached from dragging around the overflowing suitcase, the thing laid on its side by his knees.

The bleeding had slowed by then, Donut using a flannel from their en suite back home to keep the oozing minimal. He’d been handed a clipboard and a form to fill in, perching it on his lap as he scribbled one-handedly.

He wriggled out his phone from his pocket and tried phoning Tucker again, then Simmons, and then Tucker again for a fifth time.

Donut scrolled down to Sarge’s number. He didn’t want to call him. It would be unfair to drag him into all of this, even if he was already, technically, involved. Sarge would come, Donut knew he would, but he didn’t want him to feel obligated because their friendship had bumped up to sleeping together. Just because he’d let Donut stay with him a couple of days didn’t mean he was obligated to give him residence.

His bottom lip caught on the cloth, the sting caused making his eyes burn stronger. Donut gave in to temptation and hit call. Each passing ring by Donut’s ear was excruciating. He wanted a hug.

“Y’all alright?” Sarge picked up. Donut hadn’t expected to feel so much relief.

“Hi!” began Donut brightly, wincing in regret at the smile, tongue rolling over the rising blood. He pushed on, “Are you busy?”

“No. What’s wrong?” Sarge side-eyed the piles of accounts and receipts he was sorting through, a half-hearted attempt to start balancing his books. They could wait.

Donut sniffed, trying not to let himself fall apart over how _good_ Sarge’s voice sounded by his ear. “Could you come to the minor injuries place downtown? The one you drove me and Junior to before?”

Sarge went silent. His hands shook as anger overtook him, understanding the implications in an instant. “I told you I should have gone back with you.” he barked impulsively, “I told you, I told you I didn’t want you alone with that scum and you didn’t listen to me.”

Donut’s face crumpled, pressing his lips together. He sniffed, trying to keep his composure. He could take the yelling, he’d been yelled at all his life, but not by Sarge, never by Sarge.

“Donut?” Sarge’s voice interrupted his turmoil, softer now, seeming to have understood he’d gone too far.

Donut sniffed again.

“M’sorry.” grumbled Sarge, guilty. Sarge wasn’t one for apologies, but Donut deserved this one.

“Please come.” Donut’s voice wobbled, unable to find his usual optimism.

 “Gimmie ten.” said Sarge before hanging up the phone.

The ride over to the clinic was fast since Sarge knew where he was going, getting lucky with traffic lights and traffic. He was out the car and ascending the stairs to the floor where the clinic was situated within minutes.

Sarge caught sight of Franklin with a quick look about of the waiting room. He was half way over to him when they caught gazes. Donut gave a brave face and stood up, blood staining his teeth as he, for Sarge, smiled.

He wasn’t fooling anyone. Sarge could see in his eyes he was on the brink of another round of tears, which he promptly burst into when Sarge wrapped his arms around him to hug him.

“What’cha crying about, huh?” Sarge tried, rubbing between Donut’s shoulders, “Prince Charming ain’t around, so you’re stuck with me.”

Donut gave a wet giggle. “Shut up.”

Sarge watched as Donut pulled away, eyes still shining with tears, sniffing back snot and pressing the blood-soaked rag back to his mouth. “Don’t you be crying over him, darlin’,” Sarge told him, thumbing away tears gently from Donut’s cheeks, “he ain’t worth your tears. He ain’t worth your anything.”

Donut shook his head, Sarge’s affection only making the waterworks worsen. “I’m not crying cause of him, I’m crying cause-” he took a shaky breath, voice breaking- “cause I’m so glad you’re here.”

Sarge’s eyebrows came together, he pulled Donut into another hug to hide the fact his own eyes had started to water. He kissed his hairline and got him sat back down.

After quick conversation, Donut let it slip he’d already been there over two hours, and no one could stop the customer service nightmare Sarge became. He was over at the counter in a flash, rudely demanding a doctor despite Donut’s attempted reassurance that “ _There are people here who need a doctor more than me.”_ , cutting to the front of the line.

Although Donut hid behind his hand in mild embarrassment, his chest warmed at the fact Sarge thought he was worth the fuss. Within ten minutes Sarge had worked his scary southern magic, and Donut was sat in the back office having his lip sewn back together again.

Sarge held his hand through the procedure, insisted vehemently on footing the bill and carried Donut’s suitcase out to the car, all of which surprised Donut in a way he felt almost bad about.

Donut gasped when he saw himself in the car window. “Oh gosh, I look like a complete mess.”

“Donut, you got your lip beat open,” reminded Sarge as Donut preened himself quickly, “You ain’t gonna be looking like a supermodel all the time.”

They got into the car and Donut smiled shy, eyes anything but. “Why? I usually look like one?”

“I’d be lyin’ if I told you otherwise.” Sarge placed a hand on Donut’s thigh, squeezing softly.

Both of Donut’s hands eagerly contacted Sarge’s skin, one on top of the touch to his thigh and the other wrapped around the older’s upper arm. “Thank-you for coming.”

“Anytime.” replied the veteran, “You’re staying at Blood Gulch too. With me, or your negro friend, or you can have one of them spare apartments if you want.”

Donut sighed in exasperated fondness. “You can’t be saying that, Sarge. His _name_ is Tucker.”

“Alright.” defended Sarge at the mild scolding, “I don’t trust him.”

“And why’s that?”

“Cause he’s on the blue floor, that’s why. Bad news, the lot of them. Stupid kids.”

Donut pouted. “You think I’m a stupid kid?”

Sarge raised an eyebrow.

“Sarge.” whined Donut at the lack of answer.

Sarge rolled his eyes, fighting the smirk on his lips. “No, I don’t.”

Donut brightened and leaned forward to kiss him, which Sarge gently rejected, “your stiches, Donut” he said before kissing the corner of his mouth.

Slipping backwards into the passenger seat, Donut clicked on his seatbelt. He looked suitably contented, red around his eyes gone. “I’ve decided. I’m going to stay with you.”

“Want the guest room?”

“Nah, I wanna sleep with you. It’s still winter, gotta keep each other warm, don’t we?”

Sarge nodded. He’d take any excuse if it meant waking up next to Franklin in a morning.

-

Donut had complained feeling tired once they’d gotten in, most of the afternoon spent lounging around in Sarge’s bed watching movies. There was a pile of DVDs on the floor, Donut having not been very impressed with the titles he’d found in the back of Sarge’s cupboard.

“Feelin’ better?” asked Sarge, the credits for _The Wild Bunch_ finishing their descent on screen.

“Much better.” Donut hummed, snuggling up to Sarge, face by the crook of his neck. He pushed a hand downwards, feeling Sarge’s heat through the flimsy fabric of his boxer shorts. He cupped the outline of his cock, thumb stroking lazily.

Sarge made a soft sigh, the contact nice. They laid together like that for a while, Sarge’s arm around Donut’s waist as Donut palmed at his dick.

Before Donut could go any further, he had his hand knocked away, objection stolen from him when Sarge moved on top of him. He kissed down Donut’s chest and disappeared under the covers of the bed. Sarge’s lips stayed connected with Donut’s skin all the way down, beard scratching his skin, big hands riding down Donut’s underwear.

Franklin, smiling and happy, arched his back and moaned.


End file.
